


The Bullet

by myscira



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6320473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myscira/pseuds/myscira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after Christmas Eve, Karen reflects on her life through a series of memories. Her reflection leads to a single conclusion that comes to light after a visit from...a friend.</p><p>Note: DareDevil Season 2 Spoilers</p><p>Warning: Profanity, minor depictions of violence</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bullet

The office smelled like whiskey and cigarettes, a scent oddly both clichéd and nostalgic but of what she wasn’t sure. She watched the rain turn into bullets, hitting the pavement like a round of gunfire. She shut her eyes, squeezed until it hurt, and opened them. The rain was water again. She waved the smells away with her hand and reached for her pen.  
  
Matt was Daredevil; she’d known that for months now. She’d learned it all from the identity of the woman in his bed to his first encounter with Frank Castle. Much to her surprise it was the latter that had her brain on fire and her gut in knots. And how did she come across most of the information? Not from Matt, whose need for honesty stopped shortly after his mask reveal. No, she dug. That was her security, part of it. Her ability to research, to read, and discover the secrets that had alluded her, the secrets she’d chosen to be naïve about. No more.  
  
She poured herself a glass and threw it back like mother’s milk. She almost smiled; in the dead of the night her computer screen shone as bright as the stars she couldn’t see. Naturally, the city had light pollution that kept the night black. It had noise pollution too, full of cars and buses, screams for mercy and laughter from teens out past their curfew. She shook her head; whatever trace of a smile she had disappeared under the weight of memories.  
  
Gunshots. Had she really heard them this time or were her ghosts paying her a visit? She pressed her lips together and dropped the pen. She didn’t deserve the job she had, or so she believed. As far as she was concerned, she was a rookie that took the place of one of the greats. What was this office but a constant reminder of what she’d played a part in. Did she blame herself for Ben’s death? Tonight was not the night to think about it, self-loathing was scheduled for next week. Tonight she had other plans although most likely not any better than self-loathing. Maybe, it was too early to tell.  
  
She held back a scoff and shut her notebook. Guilt was her air and as always it had her choking.  
  
She heard a thump and her heart began to race. She walked to the window and saw a cat jump from the bottom of the fire escape to a trashcan. She sighed. Which gunshot had the sound reminded her of? Better question, which gunshot had been worse? She started to wonder as she’d already wondered a thousand times over.  
  
Was it the first shot she took at the man across the table or was it…was it the one in the forest that left her on her knees. The shot that changed her morality and questioned her character, turned her world into trite gray conundrums, and introduced her to the art of redemption? Or, was it the shot that reminded her redemption looked at her in the eyes and spat back.  
  
She thought about it when she shut the door, when she walked across the street, when she heard tires screech to a stop, and people curse the night away. By the time she got home she wanted nothing more than to find a hole and collapse under her ghosts.  
  
She threw her phone onto a chair in her apartment, her bag and shoes followed. What would happen to a person that made a grave from their bed? That is, what if she never left and just slept until her smile had found its way back to her for good?  
  
She looked at the clock, 1 in the morning and her body was ready to say goodnight but her mind was not. How could she sleep knowing what might lie ahead? How could she ever sleep with the danger that followed her? No, the danger she chased with intention and purpose.  
  
New question, how many times had he come to see her? How many times had he asked her to find something? How many times had she dropped everything to find his answers and yet…she always come up short. Sure, she found what he wanted but he always seemed dissatisfied when he walked away. Whatever he really wanted eluded him. She thought to ask once or twice; what did he want in his crusade, what was the final outcome, the conclusion to the violence? Or had he always hoped the conclusion would be his own death. Aided suicide, the world his accomplice. She shook her head.  
  
The first time he’d come to her she’d walked away. The second time prompted her to echo her words from the forest, “You’re dead to me.” She’d managed to walk three feet before she realized she could not help but look over her shoulder. That did it. The need to help this human being find his way back even if he refused to be anything but the monster he’d branded himself.  
  
Naturally, his favors came with dangers. She’d been shot at four more times in the months that followed his first visit. And every time she’d somehow made it out alive by a reckless action either by her own action or his, or both. She shot at a bomb…he pushed her into the water…they jumped off a building. She shook her head. Then came a time where she stitched the wound across his back; he asked her why she kept helping and she countered with her own question, “Why do you keep coming back?”  
  
“I won’t, this is it.” She knew he said it not because he didn’t need her but because he thought needing her was dangerous. She didn’t say that out loud; instead she offered him a blanket and a spot on the futon he’d help collect from the garbage.  
  
Now, in her bed, she laughed. They’d been following a lead that took them past a dump. She pointed at the stained futon and made a joke about it looking lovely in her apartment; she did need new furniture given that most of hers was broken or riddled with bullet holes.  
  
“You’d think it was a war zone,” She’d said briskly, “But from you I get a sense of what that’s really like and I feel lucky I have four walls.”  
  
“Glad I could make you feel lucky.” It was his way of making a joke, a tinge of guilt, a smidge of self-deprecation.  
  
“More than you know.” She whispered; she couldn’t decide if she wanted him to hear that…if he did he acted as if he hadn’t.  
  
He’d slept on the futon plenty of times, mostly to avoid police sirens or mobsters, or whatever else he managed to drum up in his self appointed missions. And then, there was also the time he slept next to it. She remembered that night clearly as it was something like a Catholic confession. A bullet had hit her chest. She saw him snap the neck of her shooter, a sound that always made her cringe and weirdly a bit more spiritual as she prayed he’d be forgiven. Then, she heard something new, she heard him beg.  
  
“Stay with me Karen.”  
  
When he mentioned hospital she shook her head, “They’ll arrest you, everyone knows your face.”  
  
He had nothing to say, he only lifted her in his arms. She grabbed his shoulder, “Claire, call Claire.” It was the perfect comprise, one he almost didn’t agree to until she convinced him that even if she lived she’d be arrested as his accomplice (dozens of times over).  
  
He’d laid her onto the futon, covered her wound with his jacket and mumbled what might have been a prayer. Claire had come, Claire had saved her, Claire had given her medicine and stiches and a cold press to her forehead. Or so she’d thought.  
  
“The cold press was him,” Claire sent softly after Karen thanked her for each action that had saved her life, “Never thought I’d see a guy like that ever be so gentle.”  
  
Karen smiled.  
  
She’d come to know Claire in the last few months; she’d become her friend. From her humor to her integrity Claire was who she wanted to be, confident and capable. So, naturally she’d never tell Claire what she had done, her past and what came with it, guilt. But she did have a question.  
  
“Am I doing the right thing?” She remembered Claire’s eyebrows furrow.  
  
“Getting shot? I’d say that’s never the right thing for anyone but in this city it almost seems unavoidable, just like pervs and sidewalk urinations.”  
  
Karen didn’t miss a beat, “Running around with these guys, playing hero.” It wasn’t the question she’d meant to ask but it had been on her mind for sometime. She was in over her head, of that she was sure, but was it her actions or the men, rather one man in particular, that made it so?  
  
“In all the time I’ve known you,” Claire said, “You’ve never been playing anything.” Karen saw Frank at out of the corner of her eyes.  
  
She shook her head and fell asleep. When she woke up it was still dark but he was at her side, asleep, or so she believed.  
  
In the present, she heard a thump outside her window and jumped. Another cat? Or a crook? No, it was a Castle. She saw his frame and sighed out of exhaustion and relief. With him a few feet away she rubbed her eyes and stepped out of bed. He stared at her as though he’d never meant to wake her, as though he wasn’t sure if coming was the right decision.  
  
She thought back to the night she was shot.  
  
“She was right,” Karen remembered him saying, “You’re not playing, you’re not acting. You do what you do because you have something inside of you that’s…that’s the best of us.”  
  
“Us?”  
  
“Jackasses like me, or humanity, some might say it's synonymous.”  
  
She’d risen, only slightly, to put her hand on his shoulder, “It’s compassion and it’s natural...for everyone, you included.”  
  
He’d gotten up off the floor, “You stick with me because you think you can fix me, you think I can change, you think every human being has a compassionate side.” He said “compassionate” like it was a curse word, which wasn’t much of a challenge for Frank.  
  
“Because it’s true Frank-”  
  
“Maybe, maybe when you’re young. But when you get older you lose a bit of it and if you take enough hits you lose it altogether until all you have left are bullets and blood stains.” She remembered the expression he had when he walked to the door, a man reluctant but determined, “I never want that for you.”  
  
“Frank-”  
  
“I told you to stay away.”  
  
That made her angry, “You’re the one that keeps coming back!” Her words had given him pause…but only for a moment.  
  
“At first, because I needed your help for the mission. Then it was you, and your leads, and somehow we got comfortable like we were some team but shit Karen, we’re fooling ourselves.”  
  
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Helping people is for the naïve?”  
  
He shook his head, “This is it, we’re done.”  
  
“You don’t get to decide that for both of us.” Her voice had a crack, a sound that haunted her even now. It showed she was attached and attachments he could not do. Attachments meant death, and, as she was sure, it would only strengthen his resole to walk way for good.  
  
He’d walked to the door but she stopped him. She’d run right to the door and stood between it and him.  
  
“Get out of my way.”  
  
A beat and sigh.  
  
“I killed a man.” And there it was; her secret had entered into a reality outside of her memories of blood and limp limbs. As the sun rose she explained what she had done, how the arrogance of her victim had cost him his life; how he, in all his certainty, believed she could not, would not dare to strike him dead and did so before he’d finished his sentence. But she didn’t stop them, her mind flashed to the news paper article on Ben’s desk and then to the memories of her past and out came a floodgate that ensured any purity she’d been afforded by her blonde hair, blue eyes, and soft voice was torn into shreds. It was a relief, to be seen, she’d believed, as more than porcelain and yet she was no steel, not unless it was jagged.  
  
Barely a minute had passed when she spoke again, “It’s not about fixing you, or even fixing myself.”  
  
“Then what is it?” She’d thought he’d have more to say then a question but then again it was Frank Castle.  
  
“It’s about redemption being unconditional, it’s about hope that goes beyond better days, the kind of hope you find in others. The best of humanity without the pedestal, the best you find in yourself. It’s about finding good in things that were bad because if bad stays bad then how could it ever…how could it ever change. How could the good ever outweigh the bad?”  
  
He’d sighed as though she’d spoke for hours; for a moment she thought he hadn’t understood and she’d confided in the wrong person. Surely Frank wouldn’t tell anyone. She didn’t doubt he’d think less of her for it but still she’d hoped he’d understand the desperation she had to help him, and…she hoped he’d forgive her for deflecting it onto him.  
  
“It’s about you wanting to be good,” He shook his head, “And strong. ‘Cause everyone thinks you’re weak? That’s bullshit.”  
“Frank.”  
  
“No, Karen, I get it. I get what you wanted to see in me but you’re lying if you think you need me to forgive you for it. You think you used me?”  
  
“I…I did.”  
  
“Bullshit. You’re all about truth and justice and you wanted it for me and then you made me your own damn crusade and you didn’t want to give up.” He pushed her away from the door, gently, and grabbed the knob, “And that’s why you have to stay away. You think your past has corrupted you, it hasn’t, never not you. I don’t even know why the hell you ever trusted me to begin with, why you keep trying.”  
  
“You never lied, not to me.”  
  
“Shit, that’s not worth shit.”  
  
“You have good in you.”  
  
He’d let out a breath that was something like a laugh, she remembered it when she saw his face now; the expression was almost the same.  
  
“And you think that makes a difference, it doesn’t.” He walked out the door and that was the last time she saw him, until now.  
  
Now, he stood before her like a shadow, a ghost, a friend and an almost. She pressed her fingers to her forehead and sighed. She’d called him this time.  
  
“You said you needed help.”  
  
“I saw you.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
She’d seen him on her last case; human trafficking ring from Texas had found it’s way in New York. She had a lead, a bunch of girls stored away like objects and she had the means to get them out. He was there. Him and Matt fought side by side while she made a run for the girls. He’d left Matt to help; he’d left Matt to protect her from another round of bullets, one of which hit him.  
  
“Damn it Frank!” She’d screamed, “Why the hell did you do that!” Why did he block his body over hers? Because he was Frank Castle; her Frank…when the hell did that happen.  
  
To the people he was The Punisher; to her he was the redemption that had turned into the unexpected. She was at his side when he was patched up, and although he didn’t want her to know, she saw him in the crowd when the mayor gave her an award. An award she’d chucked into the trash while he watched.  
  
“So what is it this time?” He was gentle again and the contradiction of his voice and the bruises on his face, a fresh beating, made her confused and angry.  
“You said we were done but you came.”  
  
He didn’t say anything; instead he sat on the futon and waited for her to do the same. After a minute she sat down.  
  
“You look like hell.”  
  
“Natural state.”  
  
“I needed to talk.”  
  
“About?”  
  
“Polarization and illusion.” She smiled at him like it was a joke but he understood perfectly. She gave him time to walk away but he was steady, eyes on her as though his instinct was to look in her direction.  
  
"Hell Karen it's late for this kind of philosophical shit." Despite his own words, he leaned against the wall to listen.  
“You’re the guy people fear and I’m the girl that’s suppose to be afraid. But we’re the people that are more than what people make of us.”  
  
She waited again for him to interject; when he didn’t she continued.  
  
“That’s why I keep fighting for you, why I will always have your back.” She looked away from him. The night in the forest…she’d fought over and over again for him in the trial, all her research, the photograph, the car and the song, right down to the forest when he said he was already dead. When she fell to her knees and broke into tears as though she’d killed again, but worse, because it was Frank she could not reach.  
  
“Frank, that night in the forest…I thought it broke me. I thought that was it. For everything I’d tried I…I felt powerless. Because I couldn’t change your mind, I couldn’t convince you of what I saw in you and I thought how could I convince anyone of anything, how could I ever...”  
  
“We’re not doing this Karen,” He stood, “We’re not doing this.”  
  
“Damn it Frank, listen to me!” She got up and grabbed his shoulders, “You didn’t break me because I kept fighting for you and I keep fighting for you and maybe you think there’s something wrong with me for it, you might think I’m stupid but I don’t give a shit. I have to believe in you, I have to have hope, even if it pisses you off, because that’s who I am and every time you want me to walk away you’re asking me not to be myself.”  
  
She made a split second decision to move her hands from his shoulders to his face. He took a breath and somehow softened his features and for a moment, she was startled by the change. How could she be? She’d seen it plenty of times before. The first time in the hospital…when he told her she was never in any danger.  
“And every time you walk away you think you’re being you but you’re not, you’re just hiding and we both know it.”  
  
His eyes were on her, like they’d been so many times before. Like in all the times they’d gone to diners for 2 am meals where he’d down black coffee and she’d sneak sugar while he pretended not to notice. Like stitches after battles to old Jazz, rock, and pop classics, upon which she learned Frank Castle’s knowledge of music was far beyond what she could have ever guessed or hoped. Like research and donuts; where, in between bites, he’d look at her like she was the most capable woman in the world.  
  
“That was the last time you make me feel powerless Frank, because ever since all you do, in every truth you tell me, every time you come to me for help, I’m validated.”  
  
“In what?” His voice was tender.  
  
“In knowing I have the ability to affect change, in knowing I deserve to be trusted, that I can be helpful, that I matter in this world.”  
  
He turned his head away but she grabbed it, “Frank.”  
  
“You never needed me for that.”  
  
“I know, but I’m sure as hell glad you’re a part of it. I’m glad that I can be who I am and be the kind of person you can come to for help. I’m glad you look at me like…like I’m-”  
  
“Hope,” He whispered.  
  
“Yeah.” She didn’t take for granted that that one word contained the most vulnerability Frank Castle had ever shown to her. In that one word there was no gruff or grumble, no bruises or bullets or violence. No broken bones or snapped necks. There was the good she’d known, there was the hope, in the word itself, that she could reach him beyond the almost both in his own redemption and in…in her feeling for him.  
  
“Now understand this,” She stepped closer to him, “Every time you try to walk away because you think its best for me you’re making a decision for me that I didn’t ask you to make.”  
  
“Karen.”  
  
“If you’re walking away because you think you’re better off without me, fine, do it. But if it’s the other way around then I’m calling you on your bullshit because as unexpected as it was, I fell in love with you.”  
  
A tense second later and she had her lips on him. She tried not to cry, she tried to think of steel and concrete but her eyes watered and his fingers were there to catch the tears that fell. She shook her head against his lips; he didn’t pull away. And yet, when she finally did his face had hardly changed.  
  
“Please,” She said, “Don’t.” He hadn’t changed his mind but she wasn’t ready to let go.  
  
“I can’t do this,” He stepped back, “don’t call me again.”  
  
She grabbed his arm, “You can’t go until you answer two questions, you answer them and you can walk away and I’ll never call you again.” Of course it was ludicrous for her to say such a thing given that he was The Punisher but, as she’d known for a long time, he’d never hurt her.  
  
“Question one, have you ever lied to me?” She knew he hadn’t.  
  
“Never.”  
  
“Question two,” She took a breath, “Do you love me?”  
  
He cursed.  
  
“Answer the question Frank.” She knew he was stuck. He never lied, would he try it now? Would he walk away? That would only confirm it. Or would he say yes? That seemed as much of a reach as anything else.  
  
“It doesn’t matter what I feel,” She scoffed, “Karen, it doesn’t matter we can’t do this, I won’t tell you again.”  
  
“Answer the question Frank.”  
  
“I already did.”  
  
“It’s a yes or no question.”  
  
“I answered it.”  
  
“Yes or no.”  
  
“Stop it Karen.”  
  
“Yes or no!”  
  
He cursed under his breath and threw his hands, “Shit don’t you get it, love doesn’t matter, compassion doesn’t matter, not at the end of the day when the people you feel those things for end up dead with bullets in their bodies, shit, you either live with those memories, die with alongside them, or die alone. Ain't no way around it, not with people like me, you know that damn well.”  
  
He stepped closer to her, “You think you know what you’re doing? You think saying I’m making a decision for you makes you right? Shit no, you’re trying to make the decision for me. You want me to stay because you don’t care if you get hurt, but I do, that was my decision Karen. To keep you alive.”  
“Why,” She grabbed his hands, “Why would you want to keep me alive?”  
  
He took a deep breath. She learned from the boys how to trap people with questions but oh, how she perfected it and damn it, he knew it.  
  
“You already know.” She’d worn him down.  
  
“Then, just say it.” She couldn’t decide if it would make a difference or if she was just hell-bent on the mission she’d made for herself.  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
“Why not.”  
  
“Because there’s no walking away after I do.”  
  
“Then don’t.” And although she didn’t want to, although she was afraid it would make her weak she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “Please.” Because that’s who she was as a person and he knew it. Capable enough to make her own decisions, strong enough to see them through, and vulnerable in her emotions.  
  
“You’ve got this thing Karen, sure as hell not an angel but something good that I don’t…I don’t want to screw up, a thing that doesn’t go well with someone like me and you need to understand that.”  
  
She sighed, “And you need to understand that you’re home to me.” She didn’t explain it nor did she want to. Home was safety, a concept that Frank had always believed he was a polar opposite to in every sense. And yet, Karen felt the word was synonymous with her feelings for him, more specifically the affection that comes with safety, home.  
  
“I’m nobody’s…” He paused, “I can’t be that Karen, I hurt people, you know, you’ve seen it. I’m not playing martyr, far from a saint. I hurt people and I’d hurt you or is the scar from the bullet not enough of a reminder?”  
  
“Do you remember the diner?” So long ago, with fresh bruises on his face from what she later learned was a prison brawl, the smell of coffee and the bustle of the city just outside the window.  
  
“You said ‘People that can hurt you – I mean really hurt you are the ones close enough to do it.”  
  
“Karen-”  
  
“You said when you have that kind of thing you hold onto it, use two hands, and never let go.” She smiled at him, “This is me holding on.” Of course Frank had said those words under different circumstances and yet the meaning, not the man, remained the same.  
  
“Frank,” She laughed, “For shit’s sake, just say it.”  
  
He shook his head and for a second she thought she’d lost him…that they would be bound to the inevitable routine of leaving and coming back. It was a dance to a song of a thousand unspoken words; she’d had enough.  
  
“Please, Frank.”  
  
He nodded, and without hesitation said, “I love you.”  
  
She kissed him again, and again. It wasn’t passionate; there wasn’t any fury between them. Nor was it sweet, they were seasoned and tired not callow and young. Rather, it was loving and gentle like the crackle of fire. It was love; it was respect…it was home.  
  
“So,” She pulled away, “We love each other.”  
  
“Shit deal, isn’t it?”  
  
She laughed, “ You walking away?”  
  
He didn’t answer her; she could tell he was afraid of making a promise he couldn’t keep because Frank Castle couldn’t lie to her much less break a promise.  
  
“Not tonight.”  
  
“Good enough.” And for now, it was.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written for this fandom before...I saw season 2 and I couldn't get the story out of my head. If I had more time I'd work on it more but for now I'm okay with the end result. Maybe in the future I'll write more...I'm really interested in the parallels between these two characters.
> 
> It should also be noted that Frank Castle is the most challenging character I've ever written and very out of my element. I based his character from the show and the small role he had in the Black Widow comic run...but challenges are good. I apologize if he's too sentimental...
> 
> If you have any suggestions for the future, please share! And, note, I apologize for all/any grammar mistakes.


End file.
